I’m currently working on the sequel to Our Lady of Righteous Rage, titled Your Fame Will Destroy You.  Amy and her friends are about to learn the high cost of fame.  The higher you rise, the harder people want to see you fall.  Here’s a sample from a chapter I’m working on:

 

 

Chapter (?)

Amy

　

　

　

The calls from record labels and potential managers were endless…and exhausting. People simply don’t know how to take “no” for an answer. We did interviews with local magazines and newspapers, and even a few bloggers. The media wanted to know why we weren’t moving our careers forward. Nic always gave the best response. “We are moving forward,” he’d say. “We’re just doing it our way. Our fans don’t have a problem with it, and neither should you.”

And it was true. Our fans were extremely supportive of our decision to remain on our own label. Mike was still our manager. The best thing about him: he couldn’t be turned down. If a club or studio didn’t want to hire us, he’d whip out his I-pad and show them all of the things fans were saying about us online. “If you don’t book Our Lady, it’ll be your loss, not theirs.” Sure enough, we’d play the venue, and the owner would make crazy-ass money, just because we were there.

Then, there were the parties. All we had to do was show up, and any lack-luster event would immediately explode. Aidan found a little bar with a private room called Decklin’s. We invited our long-time friends and Erin from the Urban Collective to come and hang out with us. We used the private room at the back of the bar. So many people kept trying to sneak back there and sit with us, we ended up giving one of the bar tenders two hundred bucks to act as our bouncer. We finally let a few of our fans in, at Erin’s request.

“They’ll post photos online and it’ll be great for the band’s image,” she said.

Two hours and I don’t know how many drinks later, it was a party.

Aidan, Dee and Rob sat on a burgundy half-moon shaped couch in the corner, along with some of our fans: a young guy and a young girl. At first, they seemed nervous; star-struck. After a few minutes, when they realized Aidan, Dee and Rob were just normal people, they relaxed, and loosened up.

Over in another corner, I decided to join Erin and Nic, and more of our fans. We were huddled together in a booth. One of the guys was an NYU student. He nervously drank a beer and told me how much he loved my band. I patted him on his back and told him to relax. He smiled, and shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “You’re the first celebrity I’ve ever met. I was at your last show in New Jersey.”

“I’m glad you could make it,” I said.

Erin was tipsy and rattling on about the guys she loved but would never be able to marry. Last week it was Brad Pitt. Tonight, it’s Colin Farrell.

“And it’s really a shame,” Erin said. “Cause he’s Irish, and I’m half Irish. We’d be so good together. My Dad’s Irish, so he’d be happy.”

“I thought you were in love with Brad Pitt,” Nic said.

“No, that was last week,” I said. “And before that, it was Liam Neeson.”

The college student next to me sipped his beer, and raised a curious eyebrow. “Liam Neeson?”

Erin smiled proudly and nodded. “Yep,” she said. “Have you seen Taken? If I ever get kidnapped, I know he’d rescue me.” She finished the last of her beer.

I giggled, and slid out of the booth. “I’ll be back,” I said.

“If you’re going to the bathroom, use that door next to Aidan’s table,” Nic said. “Remember: you’re famous now. If people see you, you’ll never make it in there in one piece.”

I smiled and said, “Right, right. The last thing I need is someone taking pictures of me coming out of a stall in the ladies room.”

Erin nodded in agreement. “Because the photograph kills,” she said. “So be careful, or your fame will destroy you.”

I paused, and stared at her. “What did you say?’

“I said, your fame will destroy you,” Erin said.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

Erin shrugged. “It’s a line from a song. A song by Russell Crowe…another guy I’ll never be able to marry.” She sighed. “Ignore me. I’m drunk. Go. Go pee.”

I shook my head and headed towards the bathroom. Sure, she’s drunk, but her words were stuck inside my head. Your fame will destroy you. I suddenly had the feeling I needed to worry about that.

 

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